Twitter's funny, isn't it? Lots of people saying things. You can follow me, if you like (twitter.com/grahambandage).
I follow a number of celebrities and people whose work I admire and, in some cases, love to the point of tears. But I don't expect them to follow me.
And why should I? They have many thousands of followers. If I were to show up on their radar I would recommend that they have their radar checked out for excessive sensitivity by a qualified engineer. They literally don't have the time to consider the likes of me, to decide, "You know what? This chap Bandage is smashing, and I'm going to follow him in a reciprocal arrangement."
Or so I thought.
There's a little button to the right of your screen. I've marked it "I Know Where You Live." Every so often, I have a little look at my profile on StatCounter to see how many thousands of people have had a look at this blog*. And one day last week I saw it. Somebody, I'm not saying who, but it's somebody I admire and had recently started to follow on Twitter, had read my blog.
"Ooh," I thought, "Mr X [that's not his real name] has read my blog." And for a moment I was quietly pleased. "Now," I thought, "The big time is beckoning. It's diamond-studded iPhones and swimming pools in the shape of this blog all the way for me from here on in."
And then I had a look at the people he follows on Twitter. And I'm not one of them.
This man, this Mr X [that's not his real name], has done the necessary research and found me wanting. If only I hadn't had access to such a wealth of information, I would be living in blissful ignorance. It's all my own fault.
In a way, it's the worst review I've ever had, apart from when the recipient of my youthful longings told a go-between, "I'd rather f**k a penguin."
*Don't worry, I don't really know where you live. Also, I only know who this person is because he has his own domain. That's the size of big-shottedness which this man possesses.